


Tornado

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [360]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 16:50:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8631460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: anon on tumblr asked: All four of the Tracy boys on earth doing search and rescue after a tornado, with of course John on the comm.





	

The clouds were breaking, his feet were aching, yet Scott was loathe to call it.

All around them, what was once a small country town was now matchsticks. The only brightness was International Rescue blue, the four of them moving in a search line across the wreckage of the neighbourhood.  In the distance, Scott could hear the growing _thump-thump-thump_  of the choppers as the well-oiled disaster relief machine whirred into action.

International Rescue had airlifted and dropped, fetched and ferried throughout the night.  You couldn’t deny nature, and the supercell had spawned tornadoes too fast for even One to keep fully ahead of.  Only daybreak had brought relief, the forecast showing the system mostly blown out, at least until the next one.

In the meantime, Scott knew that they should be turning their Birds for home and rest.  But none of them seemed ready to call it.  Beneath his boots, the shrapnel of lives crunched and scattered.

Neighbouring towns had already come to care for the survivors, but the head count was incomplete.  One was missing.

As Scott heaved himself over a rise of shattered wood that may have once been a house, he heard Gordon yell, followed by the sharp, high note of the rescue alert whistle.

Scott skidded down the scree slope, pounding down still faintly-visible line of the path towards where Gordon was waving his hand high over his head.

Virgil beat Scott there, Alan skidding in directly after.  “What is it?”

Gordon stepped back, hands out for balance.  “I’m sure I heard something.”

Scott tapped his comm.  “Thunderbird Five?  John, did you get that?”

”Standby,” John’s voice sounded thin in the open air.  “I’m using your comms to bounce a deep signal under the…standby….yes, life sign detected, maybe one foot in front of Alan, about five feet down.”

Alan almost lost his balance taking a step back.  Virgil steadied him, waiting for Alan to find his footing again on the rubble before kneeling down.

They worked in silent harmony, pulling out wood and masonry, Virgil working his way down the hole he was making, passing the detritus up to his brothers to toss away.  “I think I see something, but the gap is tiny…”

Alan was already slithering into the hole before Scott could draw breath.  He knelt, mindful of the soft edge, craning his neck to watch Alan crawl in under the wreckage.  “Got him.  Alive, but hurt!” Alan called back a second later.  “Hey there,” Scott heard him add, his voice shifting to something much more soothing.  “You must be Scooter.  That’s my big brother’s nickname.”

Gordon had unwound a length of rope, was already making it secure.

Scott braced himself, reaching down to help Alan carry his precious cargo into the sunlight.  “Watch out,” Alan said, voice pitched low so as not to startle or alarm.  “He’s a licker.”

Scott smiled as Alan made it to the top, the puppy in his arms wriggling and whining, even as he smothered Alan’s face with big sloppy puppy kisses.

Gordon was there, running his hands gently but expertly over the puppy’s flanks, down it’s legs.  “Well, not my usual kind of patient, but I’m not feeling any breaks, and he doesn’t seen in pain.  Hey, cutie,” Gordon added, scritching between the ears.  “There’s someone at the rescue site who’s going to be very happy to see you.”

In the end, Scott hung back with Virgil as Alan and Gordon escorted their patient back to his family.  Their loud squeals of joy made Scott smile, and he bumped his fingers lightly against Virgil’s outheld fist. The small group of survivors were circling the family, reaching out to pet and soothe the puppy, who was basking in the attention.  

Scott’s comm chimed.  “Thunderbird One, report?”

Scott knew his brothers, could hear John’s unspoken concern.  “All good, here, John,” he reported, tapping his comm. “All good.”


End file.
